Fade to Black: The Serpent and the Stone
by Spirit of the Shrine
Summary: History was a fickle thing; riddled with flaws, with errs and murky waters, the truth was often vague. There was none who understood that better than young Hadrian Potter, a boy fated to protect another from birth. One was a hero, and the other an unwavering guardian. The bonds of magic run thick in blood, and sing when danger nears. AU; Slytherin!Harry
1. When Lightning Strikes

**Author's Note**: This is the first installment of _'Fade To Black: The Serpent and the Stone._'

**Summary**: History was a fickle thing; riddled with flaws, with errs and murky waters, the truth was often vague. There was none who understood that better than young Hadrian Potter, a boy fated to protect another from birth. One was a hero, and the other an unwavering guardian. The bonds of magic run thick in blood, and sing when danger nears. AU; Slytherin!Harry

**Warning**: This story will contain aspects of slash. Love-at-first-sight is a common theme, one which will _not_ be seen here. That kind of thing rarely happens, and Harry is still a child. There will also be mentions of _other _aspects which might be mentioned in _this _story, such as mentions of abuse. I will also be twisting a lot of which happened in the original to fit my own needs, so many things may not, and will not, match the actual books written by J. K. Rowling. As it stands, this _is _a retelling of Harry's life and how things could have changed if the events after his birth had not worked out the way they had in the original.

**Disclaimer**: The original belongs to the author J. K. Rowling. I am not making any profit from this story, and I will not claim it as my own. The only things that belong to me are any of the characters I create, the plot itself, and places I build. This is the only time I will post this.

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**Rating**: **T**

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Lightning flashed across the sky, sharp and relentless and as cold as the ocean green.

Peering out the widow, the sky dark with churning clouds, a small, raven-haired boy watched with eyes of neon green. Cat eyes, Shade called them. They were attentive, he said. That they saw everything, and nothing at all. Small hands curled into fists in the hem of his nightshirt, knuckles white as he watched the green light flash across the sky in various, blinding hues that hurt him to look at. He could hear something on the wind, something low and dark that laughed cruel laughter. Watching it from behind glass, in the warmth and dryness of 4 Privet Drive, Hadrian Potter knew his every flinch was illogical. He knew there were other things he had to fear, but he could not overcome the instinct that told him he should crawl under his covers.

Perhaps he was awake when he should have been asleep. He _knew _he was where he shouldn't have been, sitting in the kitchen staring out the window, but he was. Logic said he _should _be in his cupboard, the door locked, but he had felt the storm coming before the first booming rumble of thunder shook the ground. Shadows danced through the home, flickering and moving and churning in odd patterns, but his attention focused on the inky darkness closing in on the unwary and sleeping. Twisting, dropping to the ground from the counter he had stood on, he moved out of the kitchen and into the front-room. He could hear movement upstairs. The faint sound of conversation, of his cousin talking to Aunt Petunia, voice low and wobbly, drifted through the ceiling to his straining ears.

Hadrian dunked into his cupboard, the door closing behind him, and he curled up within the ratty blankets as images - _"Alric," The boy turned, eyes bright as he eyed the shadowy figure standing in the doorway. It stepped into the room, and he was able to make out the shape of his mother. She paused at his shoulder, green emeralds observing the storm just outside his window as she murmured, "all things serve a purpose in the schemes of this world. Do you remember what I told you about duty?" - _flickered behind his mind's eye. Hadrian frowned, brow furrowed, as he rolled over to observe the dark shadows of the ceiling. Images, they plagued his mind just as surely as the spiders rested in the rafters of his cupboard. Beady black eyes blinked down at him, the spiders still as the storm raged outside.

The boy, Alric, was open. Expressive. It was almost as if he could _feel _the boy's emotions as the scenes danced in the backdrops of his mind. Glimpses of a life outside of his own, worlds overlapping and intertwining could be observed in the distorted dream world he knew as the Fade. Sometimes he saw other families in those moments between the waking and the sleeping, homes filled with light and happiness. As he lifted his hand, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he rested his hand on the rafter, one daring spider scuttled forward to crawl upon his hand. He watched as the black body paused on the back of his hand as he turned the woman's question over in his mind, and mouthed the words in time to the boy in his mind's eye: "Ones duty is how one lives their life, a purpose to fulfill that's required because it is morally right."

Hadrian could feel it, just there, as he whispered the words to himself in the darkness of the night. He brought the eight-legged create down to himself, and let it crawl from his hand to his chest and neck. Hair sprawled around him, tangled and dusty, he smiled. Alric, the woman had called the boy. It was a good name, he mused. It was a _simple _name, unlike the mouthful of his own; Hadrian. His own name was three syllables, unlike the two the other had. Why not Harry instead of Hadrian? Harry was shorter. Simpler. It was easier on the tongue, and not as old sounding. He thought a king bore that name, once upon a time, though he wasn't sure if there were kings and queens now. Harry. The name soothed Hadrian's thoughts as he rested in the darkness, the world blurry and distorted and confusing.

As his eyes closed, thunder cutting through the silence, he could feel the impressions coming upon him as dreams - _a faint smile pulled at her lips as she whispered her answer, "Do you know what my duty is?"_ - washed upon him. Hadrian thought it was an odd question. Surely this boy knew what a mother's duty was. He couldn't comprehend _why _she would ask her own son such a question. Such questions brought thoughts to him, fragmented images he had not a name for. They were often difficult to separate - _"To provide a safe and stable home for the family?" Alric murmured as he pulled away from the window. He knew his mother was following as he made his way to his bed, her steps soundless as she answered, "That is true, but that is not my only purpose. Do you remember what I told you about your duty, one which may come to pass?"_- from the physical world he lived within. Somewhere in the night, thunder boomed and the cracks of his cupboard were alight with the aftereffects of lightning.

The spider on his neck burrowed into his hair, the legs brushing against the sensitive skin beneath his ear. As he rested there in the dark, a black veil of hair fanned around him, he felt unconsciousness calling to him as Shade crooned to him from the depths of his mind. He could feel the Fade brushing against him, pulling his mind deep within himself, and he fought. He didn't _want _to sleep. He wanted to know about the boy's duty. What kind of responsibilities did Alric have? Did he clean and look after his home? Did that boy cook and wash? Did he tend to the garden, and did he have to fear the consequences of what would happen should he not act fast enough? There were many things - _Alric nodded, his expression thoughtful as he said, "The hope and the Light of our world that vanquished the Dark Lord, the purity that burned him, will do so once again."_ - he did not understand when the Fade was brought into question.

Hadrian found himself frowning. What sort of evil being would be defeated twice by the _same _force that subdued them the first time? Sitting up, listening to the rumble of thunder and catching the spider in his hand, he listened. He wasn't certain of the arachnid's name or which family it belonged to, but he was more than comfortable holding it. Having lived with the creatures for as long as he could remember, he knew they that, had they any desire to hurt him, they would have made their own thoughts of him clear had they believed him unwelcome. Perhaps they understood Vernon's hostility of his nephew, and wished to share their den with anyone who harbored the large man's dislike. Hadrian wasn't sure, but he was thankful for their tolerance.

He felt a frown pulling at his lips. Brow furrowed, he wondered how the boy could believe so strongly that hope and light could be a godsend. Was he, perhaps, merely naïve? An answer like that spoke of their differences, and Hadrian wondered if the boy realized that there were others who lived a life that was a stark contrast to the one he knew. As he sat up, juggling the spider between his hands, a great many thoughts danced - _overwhelming __certainty was clear in her voice as she replied, "Nothing is stronger than love, Alric. Those who follow Light are those who protect the innocent, and they are the ones who preserve balance and ensure that our world survives to see tomorrow."_ - in an endless loop in his thoughts.

Curling up on his side, the spider cradled in his hand, a mirthless laugh bubbled in his throat. Naive indeed.

**~oOoOo~**

Mornings in 4 Privet Drive were no different than what one would find in any other home in Little Whinging, Surrey. Each house was a perfect structure of good standing, and the people friendly. There were no secrets, and those within the little neighborhood were comfortable in the eyes of those who watched them from afar. Milk and eggs found themselves before their selected homes by six every morning; breakfast was always at seven, and the paper on the doorstep thirty after. Life was comfortable, and it was routine. Life was normal, but Hadrian knew that every family, and every house, had their dark deeds. For what family did not have a few skeletons hidden in their closet?

In Little Whinging, in the esteemed home of the Dursleys, Hadrian knew _he _was the dirty secret. He was the blemish which stained the air, the darkness that inspired hate, and the taint which caused his relatives misfortune. As he stood in the kitchen, eggs in the process of being scrambled and bacon cooking on the side, the youth went over a mental checklist of chores and necessities he needed to complete by the end of the day. The usual had to be done: cooking, the dishes washed, dusting and everyday cleaning. A quick scan of the pantry and cabinets, and the refrigerator, told him he needed to restock the food if he was to prevent the Dursleys from starving to death. This meant he needed to approach Vernon for money, and the thought had him grimacing in distaste. He'd speak to Petunia first, and have her double-check the list he'd make to smooth over his uncle's irate temperamental tendencies.

He made himself scarce at breakfast, and went upstairs. Making the beds, picking up clothing, and making sure not to look too closely at them, Hadrian had already built a routine. He swept into his cousin's room, rearranged things, and crossed into the bathroom to make sure it had everything it needed before he made his way downstairs to repeat the action to the hallway and living-room. He could hear his uncle's bellowing talk as the mail slipped through the slot, and swept the various envelopes into his hands. Shifting through them, placing them in proper order as he toed open the utility room to fetch the cleaning supplies, he paused. He could still hear the Dursleys in the kitchen, and he eyed the door hiding him from view before returning his gaze to the letter staring up at him in a manner of taunting mockery.

It was unlike any letter he had ever laid eyes on. The lettering at the left bottom - _ENCHANTED AGAINST UNAUTHORIZED OPENING - _ensure a raised brow. He eyed the first word, enchanted, before eyeing the various other things written across the front. Several looked like stamp markings, and then his gaze shifted to the person it was addressed to: _Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. _Staring at the letter, the heaviness of the envelope and size dwarfing the others, Hadrian found himself questioning who, exactly, sent this. Eyeing his living quarters, his supposed room, had his skin crawling and his stomach churning with distress. With unease.

"Boy!" Slipping the letter behind the cleaning detergent, setting the other letters in a small basket where he stored the sprays and cleaning clothes, he made his way back to the kitchen where he handed his uncle the letters and newspaper before picking up his aunt's empty plate. He could feel his cousin's eyes on his back, but he paid him no attention as he set the plate in the sink. Behind him, Vernon was muttering about pointless bills and people wasting his time.

"Dad," He heard Dudley say, and grit his teeth as his portly cousin asked, "can I have the boys over today?"

"I don't see why not." Vernon responded as Hadrian slipped out of the room, and he began his daily chores with a furrowed brow. Cleaning was second-nature, simple as breathing, and he went about it without thought as his mind turned to other problems. Namely a letter without a return address. He let his thoughts turn back to the other night, as _other _things - _"Every person has a purpose, Alric." The woman was smiling, and she brushed his hair out of his face as she murmured, "Those who flee not the path before them are the ones who change the world."_ - flickered beneath the surface of his mind. It was, perhaps, the one thing Hadrian agreed with. Nothing happened without reason. There was action and there was _re_action; A simple, unyielding truth which defined the heart of all things.

As he knelt, gathering reading materials off the table in the living room, the lady's words echoed in his head: _"There will be a time when Darkness will come, and it will try to swallow this world whole. We are never alone, Alric. Someone will act as our guide, and see us through the Darkness lest it stripe us of our freedom."_

**~oOoOo~**

There were many perks that came with living in the Dursleys, though Hadrian was reluctant to name them.

Racing across the park, the woods blurring and the people moving blobs of color, he knew _one _perk was survival instincts. The Dursleys demanded nothing less of perfect, and he had become accustomed to running from an early age. He had always been a lash quicker than his classmates in school. He had always been faster than Dudley and his gang. His mind was sharper, and, despite the hazy world surrounding him, he had learned to read the world, the places where he could dart away and lose his pursuers, from the shadows which curled lazily in plain daylight. Perhaps the others overlooked them, but he was pleased to see them when he was on the run.

Diving between two teenagers, one of them crying out in shock, Hadrian whipped around a corner and scaled the fence. Dropping to the ground, racing across the clearing, he entered the business section of the town with little thought of his cousin. Hopefully Dudley would leave him be now that the fence was in the way, and that his large cousin would return home. Slowing down, pausing at a crosswalk, he cocked his head to the side before turning when a sweet scent reached him. Following it, he found himself outside a café.

"That was quite impressive," He peered at the woman sitting next to the door, a glint of metal clipped to her shirt. An employee, he mused, and then she was handing him something that smelled rather mouth-watering. "I think that deserves an award. You're Hadrian, right?"

The raven-haired youth eyed the girl before he nodded, voice low as he asked, "I take it you have a sibling in school."

She laughed. "That I do. They're a year ahead of you, but they mention Dursley and his antics. From what they say, you give those boys a run for their money."

Biting into the muffin, sitting on the ground next to her with the shadows churning around him, he hummed in agreement. Pulling his braid over his shoulder, blinking as the light hit his eyes, he heard her say, "Though, I have to say that's a rather nasty scar you have there."

Hadrian reached up, his fingers brushing against the raised, silvery imperfection marring the tanned flesh from brow to opposite ear. He could remember the accident, the flash of green light moments before the car crashed, and the flaming pain. He traced it, and wrinkled his nose as he followed the path over the ridge before rubbing the tail of it under his right ear. Sometimes it still hurt, though he figured it was a phantom pain.

"Car accident," Hadrian told her a moment later, voice light as he added, "My relatives took me in after."

"Terrible, how things happen like that." The girl mused, her voice and thoughts a daze as she said, "One minute they're there, and the next they're not."

He sat there for a long while, and eventually she went inside to continue working but brought him out a small box of sweets and a bottle of water. Hadrian smiled in thanks before digging into the feast, mouth-watering, and relaxed against the stones to observe the passing cars. After some time, he rose and made his way back to the Dursleys. Slipping inside, he began his last half of his chores before putting everything away. He slipped the letter addressed to him into his pocket before crawling into his cupboard, tired and worn, but pleasantly happy with the day's events.

Holding the letter aloft, gentle laughter echoing in his mind, he hesitated. Sitting up, pressing his thumbnail under the wax, he broke the seal. Flakes of the red substance fell upon his lap, like dust from a desert storm, and he carefully pulled out the thick packet of letters folded within. Unfolding them, eyes scanning the contents, he swallowed. Flattening them out on his thigh, he stared.

_Dear Mr. H. Rilind-Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts Academy, School of the Magi and established under the Circle of Merlin. Enclosed is a list of all supplies and books needed for the year. The start of the Term opens the first of September, and we await your reply no later than the first of August._

_Yours,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Hadrian eyed his last name, gut clenching. Rilind. It brought the words of another, the soft and haunting lullaby that lurked under the flanging tones of another's vocals, to the surface of his mind when they had first met. It was a distorted memory, one which lingered - _the wisp circled for a moment before dropping to the ground, a shape lunging out of the debris in the form of a large wolf. "Rilind, eh?" It circled him, the creature's eyes changing colors as it hissed, "Rilind, one of the Alta. What brings you to us, changeling?" -_ in the depths of his mind. It was a name he thought he would never have to hear again, but to see it on a letter, one addressed to him, was, without doubt, no accident. Whoever this Minerva McGonagall was, wherever this school was, he _knew _it was a place which held answers he sought.

There were none who were to know that name. None. To see it written on paper in elegant script, so intimately, was unacceptable. Yet, eyeing the words, he could not help but question how he was going to send an answering statement when the envelope itself held no return address. Pulling out the other papers, flipping through the pages and reading the contents, he scowled. No return address. No means of knowing _how _to send his reply.

Folding the letter, brow furrowed, questions circled.

* * *

**Ending Note**: For those who have reached this point, allow me to welcome you to 'Fade To Black: The Serpent and the Stone.' As I mentioned at the beginning, this is a retelling of Hadrian's life. Yes, his name _is _Hadrian. The reasoning behind this will be made clear in later chapters, so, for all intents and purposes, do not leave a trail of harsh comments about my choice of names. As I am the author of _this _story, and this being _AU, _I'm entitled to change his name as I see fit.

I had several thoughts, none which I will reveal, that inspired this story. However, I will warn you here: I do work with clichés, but I often like to twist them around to fit my own intents and purposes. There's a few things which may be confusing at first glance, but that, too, will be cleared up in the second or third chapter. If there are other clichés anyone knows of, don't hesitate to leave it in a review. However, anyone who is reading 'When Darkness Sings' will notice a few similarities between the two. It's just how it decided to work out in this, so, really, there's nothing to be said about that. Also, as a side-note, this little 'Ending Note' will _not _be at the end of every chapter. Unless there's something I need to point out, or credit due to another source, it will be listed down here. Can't have someone threatening to sue me, now can we?

Also, for those who may try to point out that something like _this _needs a beta, I already have someone who I am working with on this story. So, yes, I _do _have an editor who looks over _each _chapter before I post it here. Two pair of eyes are better than one, and, as it is, this will be a slow working story. 'When Darkness Sings' is the one I'll be working on the most, but I'm hoping to update this story every other week (perhaps every week should I have enough time).

_**Review!**_


	2. The End of the Beginning

**Author's Note**: This is the second installment of _'Fade To Black: The Serpent and the Stone._'

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**Rating**: **T**

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In the course of ten years, eleven following the end of the week, Hadrian had come across many words used to describe him.

Many were slapped on him by his relatives, and most of them were repetitive. Boy and freak were ones he knew well, and, when his uncle was feeling in a rather peculiar mood, he would hear more colorful words like _bastard_ and _little shit. _He had grown accustomed to such phrases over the course of his lifetime, though he did not, by any means, _like _them. The old lady down the street, Mrs. Figg, liked to call him 'child' and other such endearing terms she thought he would like. His teachers often told him he was bright, intelligent, and a bit _too _quick to catch onto things his own yearmates struggled with. Hadrian figured they didn't have the same motivation that he did. Yet, as the days went by, the one term used to describe him, seldom and rare upon itself, the one he thought most accurate, was _'resourceful.'_

It was easy enough to give them reasons to forgot. He had no desire for a teacher to single him out in class lest the small, wooden creatures woven into her hair come to life. Nor did she wear rings or earrings with small, colorful insects on them after one set, a pair of butterflies, flew off her in the middle of a lecture on how it wasn't _nice _to prank the unwary. He wasn't sure _where _that teacher had purchased her jewelry, but he had never seen anything remotely shaped liked two intertwined serpents on her since. He never gave them a reason to call on him, and it wasn't difficult to ensure that he never made a higher grade than Dudley. He talked as little as possible, and would always make sure his teachers saw him interacting with his classmates. Invisible, but existing in plain sight; it was a lesson he valued, and one he cherished.

It was lessons like those that made him question the smallest details, and it taught him how to expect the unthinkable. Even now, as he stood outside glancing at the paper in his hands, he found himself questioning who, exactly, put the Leaky Cauldron in the middle of a busy street and expected that those outside, magic or no, wouldn't give it a second glance. Surely they could not be _that _idiotic. Even if there was some kind of _magic _on the place, it possibly couldn't keep someone else from seeing a person go in there and not come out. Or did they simply vanish?

_How do these people keep themselves a secret when its obvious that they're right there? _Hadrian's brow furrowed in thought as he pocketed the paper, and he glanced both ways before crossing the street. A quick look at the watch around his wrist told him he had little over an two hours before his aunt would expect him home. Surely _that _would be plenty of time to have an owl deliver this new school, this _Hogwarts, _of his that he would, in fact, be attending. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he eased the door open given the rundown appearance of the outside, but the smoky and dark interior was not so hard to believe as he had first thought it would be. The flying menus and trays, however, was a different story.

_It's simply the task of taking in information, processing it, and accepting it. I can do that._

Leaky Cauldron was, without doubt, a pub of some sort. Off to his left, he could see tables and a few workers weaving between them with trays in hand. A few people sat at them, plates on the table and glass in hand, while, to his right, a bar waited with stools for the weary. The man behind the bar, an older man with a friendly face, was who Hadrian was interested in. As he closed in on the other, and once he was within hearing, he asked, "Is it possible that you're name's Tom?"

The barman paused, and he set the rag he was using to clean a bowl with on the counter. He leaned in, elbows on the surface, as he said, "Dependin' on who's askin', boy."

Hadrian felt a slight pang of irritation at the title, but brushed it aside as he told the man, "I need entry to Diagon Alley. I need to send in a few letters before the end of the month."

"Hogwarts?" The barman asked, and Hadrian nodded his head. The man smiled, and picked up his rag again as he said, "The name's Tom, kid. Can I get ya somethin' to drink?"

"Thank you, but, " Hadrian paused, a frown marring his features, before he pressed onward, "I'm in a bit of a hurry, actually. I needed to make a quick stop here before I grab a few things from the store for my auntie."

Tom nodded, and stepped around the counter as he said, "That I understand. Good old Martha keeps me busy with work and all, but when things need to be done than they need to be done. Follow ol' me on outside to the back, and I'll show you how to get through to the ol' Alley."

As he followed Tom into the back of the pub, into the dark halls and into the enclosed courtyard running between two buildings, Hadrian reflected on the week it had taken him to get where he was. It had only taken him so long before he figured out what the Deputy Headmistress meat when the letter said it awaited his response by owl. The answer had been stored within an extra page in the envelope, one he had initially overlooked, and the information it provided about the Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, the Owl Post Office itself where he was currently heading, Gringotts, and King Cross Station with the addition to Platform 9 3/4. He had only a few days before his acceptance to his invitation to the school was closed, and, as confusing as some of this was, it had taken him a moment before he realized that he had little choice but to act unguided.

It wasn't like he could ask his aunt to help him, not unless he wanted a beating for speaking out of turn. The thought didn't settle well, and, as the wall in front of him split open, he found himself staring in stark disbelief as it caved in upon itself before a large archway was revealed, and, beyond, a long, twisting street. Hadrian heard himself thank the barman for his help, and then he was stepping under and through the archway. A backward look had him staring in shock, the entrance replaced by a street twisting around a bend and vanishing out of sight. Swallowing, he turned back to his task with only one thought in mind - he knew _how _to get into Diagon Alley, but getting _out? _

Another question he would need answered, and he had less than two hours left on his watch. He sighed, and let his gaze sweep over the alley before him with interest. He walked between the robed men and women, careful to avoid being touched, but the curious stares and questioning eyes he attracted made him uneasy. He didn't like it when people stared. Folding one arm across his middle, his gaze moving from one place to the next, Hadrian was surprised when a voice drawled out from behind him, "Lost, mudblood?"

_Mudblood, _Hadrian repeated in his mind as he turned to find three people standing behind him. He blinked at the boy directly in front of him, hair pale and eyes a striking shade of grey, as he asked, "I take it you're lacking manners if that's how you greet a stranger. As of being lost, then, no, I am not."

The blond blinked at him, and Hadrian inclined his head in greeting before turning on his heel and walking away. He hated rudeness almost as much as he hated the people staring at him - some far more openly than they had been before. Behind him, he heard the boy sputter before he heard the sound of following footsteps, "I do not lack manners!"

A hand grasped his wrist, and Hadrian twisted around. He flipped the grip, his own hand moving to encircle the wrist as he snapped, "It would seem you also lack the common knowledge of _respect_."

"Draconis," The woman spoke up, and then the two adults were on his sides. He tightened his grip before releasing the boy, his eyes narrowed as he said, "From what I understand, it is also _proper _to introduce yourself before showing yourself off as an arse."

The boy was staring, and Hadrian looked away. Swallowing, he muttered, "Either way, I have to go. I have errands to run."

"Wait!" Again he heard the boy following him, followed by the sharp tones of the boy's parents, as he swept down the street. "You cannot just leave without stating who you are, mudblood!"

_Again with that word, _Hadrian hissed to himself as he slowed to eye the shops. He noticed the blond, Draconis, stopped himself from grabbing onto him, but the boy was glowering. Hadrian pulled out the paper, eyed the directions, and then looked at the street before frowning. Behind him, the boy said, "The Owl Post Office, mudblood? Honestly, thinking you can just march into our streets and know anything."

"For one, my name is Hadrian. Use it." He turned on the boy, eyes narrowed as he said, "And, second, call me mudblood one more time and you'll find yourself in a situation a priss like you would rather avoid."

"Priss?" The blond looked over at the man trailing after them, and Hadrian rolled his eyes as he turned back to his task. His gaze moved to the shop close at hand, and debated going over to the staring woman watching him with wide, unbelieving eyes. Behind him, the woman said, "The Owl Post Office is not far from where we are going, young Hadrian. From the letter in your hands, you are going to be attending Hogwarts."

Hadrian eyed the woman, her eyes guarded as he replied, "If that would not be too much to ask, then I cannot decline. I would like to get my letter mailed today before returning home."

"Where are your parents?" She asked as she fell into step next to him, and he noticed the curious gaze of the boy on his other side as he said, "They died when I was little. I'm running errands for my aunt."

"By yourself?" It was the man who spoke up, and Hadrian felt his brow twitch. Did the man see anyone with him, or did they think he had a ghost tailing him? As he cast a quick look at the boy's father, he replied, "Yes, by myself. My aunt is watching my cousin, and my uncle works. From what I understand, _they _can't come here."

_Or won't. Not that they actually know what I'm doing. _Hadrian walked between the adults, their son at his side, for some time in silence before the boy asked, "Well, do you know what House you will be in?"

"House?" Hadrian echoed, and he looked at the boy next to him. Draconis was staring at him, a light frown marring his brow, and then he said, "Surely you cannot be serious. The Houses in Hogwarts; Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. You seem like a Ravenclaw to me."

"Ravenclaw," Hadrian tasted the word on his tongue as they paused at one shop, the lady pausing to talk to the shopkeeper before they continued onward. Her voice was light as she said, "Ravenclaw favors intelligence and observations. Slytherin falls into a similar area, but it centers on ambition and leadership skills alongside self-preservation. _'__Hogwarts: A History'_ explains this, in shades, but the Houses are far more complex than the brief glances it provides."

"What about the other two?" Hadrian inquired, unable to help himself. They were providing some information about the school, and it was Draconis who provided the next expert, "Gryffindor favors the outrageous and the brave. They tend to be reckless, they do not think before they act, and have a savior-complex that runs deeper than the Black Lake. Hufflepuff is a mixed house. Generally students that do not fit in the other three go there."

"Right. Avoid Gryffindor." Hadrian muttered to himself, the image of loud and chaotic kids running in his mind. It would be a gathering of smaller Dudleys' and _that _was something he would rather avoid at all costs. The man of the group chuckled, voice low as he said, "Wise words, boy. Gryffindor is one House someone like you should avoid. The intelligence your show would diminish rapidly before ceasing to exist altogether. A shame that would be."

"I take it that you don't like Gryffindors." Hadrian said, and then added, "Though, from the mental image, I can't see how anyone would want to go into a madhouse. Seems rather unpleasant to me."

"Not all Gryffindors are horrid," The woman said as they closed in on a large building with owls flying around it, her voice gentle as she said, "I have met several from that House who are worthy of respect. At times, I think the Sorting Hat places students in the wrong House on purpose."

They entered the shop, and the first thing Hadrian registered was the stench and the uncleanly quality. Both were appalling, and he stared, taken aback, at his surroundings as he muttered, "Petunia would have a fit if she saw this place. It's so _dirty."_

He edged his way through the room, and stopped in front of the counter, eyeing the stained surface, before telling the man behind the counter, "I need to have a message delivered to Hogwarts, but it didn't mention anything about the cost. How much would it be to have it..._flown_...to the school."

The man blinked at him before saying, "Is it a response to your Acceptance Letter?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then Hogwarts handles the price. You have your letter?" Hadrian pulled the letter out of his pocket, careful to keep the money from falling on the floor, and handed it to the man on the other side of the desk. He watched in mild surprise as the shopkeeper took the letter, handed it to an owl, and then the brown beast was flying out of a large, open hole in the wall. "If currency is what you are worried about, check with Gringotts about getting your money changed to our currency. The goblins can also answer whatever questions you have. If nothing else, you can always go through the shops, find out how much your books and supplies will cost, and get a rough overview how much it would cost in muggle money."

Hadrian nodded, and slowly walked out of the shop. Gringotts. Muggle. Wizarding Currency. Drawing in a shaky breath, he realized this might be a tad bit...difficult. More so than he had thought it would be. Beside him, he heard Draconis saying to his parents, "He _is _lost."

He turned to face them, and asked, "How, exactly, do I return to the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Are you not going to inquire about your supplies for school?" The woman asked, and Hadrian shifted in place as he said, "I really don't have the time, and, well, I have to finish my errands in the...muggle world."

The word rolled across his tongue, and he saw the boy eyeing him oddly before asking him, "Do they know you are here?"

Hadrian felt his body tensing up, and his eyes narrowed as he asked, "What kind of question is that?"

"A valid one." The man replied, and Hadrian looked at him, then the woman, before turning his attention back to the boy, "She is aware that I am in the middle of errands. Whether or not she is aware of my being here is debatable."

"A Slytherin remark, even if poorly constructed." The man mused as he circled him, and he felt the cane prob the middle of his back as he said, "I will take that as a 'no,' and leave it at that. Since you are already here, running errands, you might as well get a general idea on how much you will need to purchase what you need for school."

As he looked between the two adults and the boy, he realized that he had been dragged into _their _errands - whether he liked it or not.

**~oOoOo~**

Pain was a common theme in the Dursley household. Hadrian knew his time spent outside of his time-limit last week would not have been overlooked but he had known that his uncle's wrath was far worse than his aunt's irritability. His hand throbbed with pain, the back of his hand swollen and red from where the water had been poured over the skin, and his fingers had the hue of broken digits. Black and purple, Hadrian found himself mildly relieved that he ambidextrous. It proved useful over the years when his uncle's anger overtook him.

As he busied himself around the house, a mental clock in the back of his head, he counted off the minutes in the back of his mind until it was time for him to depart. He knew the missing money was something his uncle was infuriated about, but, even after tearing apart the house and his tiny cupboard, he had not found it. Seeing the helpless anger in the man's eyes was worth the pain, worth every moment he had been forced to hold his silence, and he was more than pleased knowing that, in under an hour, he would be free from the Dursleys for ten months. He tried not to think about the summer, what would happen when he returned home.

He was sore enough as it was, and his stomach rumbled in protest from three days without food.

It wasn't long until his chores were finished, and he swept into his cupboard, grasped the bag he had stashed under the boards, and hauled it out. He was out of the house before anyone realized what had happened, and taking the backstreets behind the houses were he wouldn't be seen. He kept out of sight until he was out of Privet Drive, and hailed down a taxi. The woman gave him a long look as he told her where he wanted to go, and she raised a brow when he told her that he was taking a train to a boarding school. He handed her the money when they arrived at King Cross Station, and he sat in silence for a long while as he watched for a sign of his next step.

Hopefully Hogwarts had books and supplies he could borrow until he found a way to get some money, and then, hopefully, he could order his own. His clothing was a sad excuse for a uniform, but he hoped it would pass without question. In the depths of his mind, he hoped he didn't run into the blond boy again. Draconis, if he recalled the name correctly. It had been a little over a month ago when he had met the family, and, all things considered, he knew it would not go well if he ran into them again. He knew it would not go well for _any _well-off family and their snide glances and superior air.

They were too much like Vernon for him to be comfortable around. Though he was thankful they helped him purchase a ticket for Hogwarts Express, so it wasn't as if he was going to be standing around trying to figure out how to get a _magical _ticket from a _normal _train station. Instead, he was standing around looking for this Platform 9 3/4, and, as it was, finding nothing. He knew better than to ask anyone. He didn't want anyone calling the Dursleys, and, as it stood, he had spotted several people he recognized from Petunia's countless tea parties eyeing him oddly.

"Come on, boys!" The lively call drew his attention, and, as he turned, he was surprised to find a group of redheads bustling down the walkway with large trolleys pushed before them. It was drawing the attention of several people, but soon they looked away unconcerned. Hadrian blinked, frowning, before slowly approaching to see _where _they were going. The woman at the front, however, kept on yelling, "The train's going to leave you behind if you don't hurry! Ronald, pick up the pace!"

"Yes, mum." A redheaded boy towards the end of the line said, looking rather scared, and Hadrian followed passively behind him as they stopped next to Platform 9 and Platform 10. He eyed the brick pillar, at the two numbers, and an inkling of suspicion settled in his mind to be proven correct a moment later when twin redheads vanished through the wall. "Now, Ronald, just remember to run at the wall. First time is always the roughest, but the barrier will let you through. Now go for it!"

The last one with the trolley took a deep breath, rushed the wall with closed eyes, and vanished from sight. Hadrian waited till they were gone before he walked up to the pillar, and gently pressed a hand to the stones. To his surprise, his fingers passed through the stone, and, with a deep breath, slowly walked through and found himself blinking on the other side.

"James," A voice echoed, followed by a sharp reprimand, "Put that _back _in your pocket! He does not need that in his first year!"

Hadrian blinked, his eyes scanning the crowd for the familiar voice, but he saw no one he knew. As he walked through the crowds, students bumping into his sides and smiling parents, a sense of unease settled in his chest. He didn't have any supplies, which might look odd to those around him. As he saw someone at the train packing the trolleys into the back, he felt himself relax as an excuse crossed his mind should anyone ask. He dunked into the crowd, eyed the train, and felt a frown marring his features. It was a rather ordinary means of transportation. It was..._muggle._

"Hadrian!" He silently cursed under his breath and pushed past a few students, each who watched him with raised brows, before a hand caught his wrist and whirled him around as the owner said, "Really, running away? How Hufflepuff is that?"

"Draconis," Hadrian hissed under his breath, and swallowed when he saw the parents approaching with a few others. A girl stood next to the blond a moment later, looking him over, before she wrinkled her nose in distaste as she said, "He looks like a muggle, Draco. Why did you run after him?"

The blond eyed the short, black-haired girl with an impassive expression as he said, "Because I wanted to. And Malfoys do what they want."

"Real original." Hadrian growled, and tugged at his wrist. "Mind letting go, you mannerless priss?"

The blond scowled, and jerked him forward. He staggered into the blond's chest, hissing curses under his breath, as he snapped, "Seriously? Are you three years old or eleven?"

"I do no see your trolley, Hadrian." Draconis said instead, and he felt himself growl as he said, "That's because it's already on the train."

"Really?" The blond looked at him long and hard, and Hadrian raised a brow. "Contrary to popular belief, we _mudbloods, _as you put it, are capable of understanding things you deem us too stupid to know. _Now let go."_

The black-haired girl stared at him, her eyes wide, before she said, "You just called yourself a mudblood."

"I might as well embrace the title if you're all going to call me that. It's a bloody word!" He jerked his wrist a second time as a few others slowed to eye their struggle, and Hadrian felt his brow twitching as he glared at the offending hand. Behind him, another boy said, "Well, Draco, seems you found a rather spirited classmate."

The blond smirked. Smirked, Hadrian mused, and not _smiled. _With his backpack on one shoulder, he finally gave up and glared at the blond boy in front of him as he said, "Alright, Draconis. You obviously want me for something, so spit it out."

"Sit with us."

_"Hell Bloody No."_

Draconis, or was it Draco, stared at him. The black-haired girl stared at him. Their parents stared at him. The other boy who had spoken stared at him, and he felt his discomfort increasing. Then Draco was spinning on his heel, Hadrian's wrist still in his hand, and dragged him _into _the train without another word. He called out love to his parents, and the others followed like a pack of wolves out for blood. Hadrian spotted the redheaded boy, Ronald, in the hallway and the boy staggered out of the wall as they swept pass.

The redheaded boy was gaping at them in shock, and then he was out of sight. It was a moment later when Hadrian found himself in a seat in some odd compartment in some unknown place in the train. He slowly turned to Draconis Malfoy, scowling, as he said, "You do realize that what you just did counts as harassment and unwanted abduction?"

The blond ignored him. As he stood, determined to leave, he was pulled back into his seat as the blond said, "Draco Malfoy, Hadrian. You see, I forgot to mention something in Diagon Alley when you were with my family and I. When you go to Hogwarts, you want to mingle with the right sort of people. Mudblood or no, _we _are the right sort of people."

Hadrian stared at him, incredulous, before saying, "Right. I'm going to believe _that _the moment you stop manhandling me. And _let go _already."

Draco laughed. He eyed the others around him, and voiced one question, "Ravenclaw or Slytherin?"

They all shared a look, and smirked as one.


	3. The Sorting Hat

**Author's Note**: This is the third installment of _'Fade To Black: The Serpent and the Stone._' Well, this is a long chapter, and things are starting to jump into action at a pace I hand't thought possible. I never suspected the chapter to be this long, but, well, it is. Anyway, here's chapter three! Read, Enjoy, and _Review!_

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**Rating**: **T**

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"You _have _to be joking."

Hadrian had always prided himself on his control, but Draco Malfoy was pushing the edge of his limited patience. He glanced at the blond, green eyes flashing like bright fire, as he answered the other boy with a cold look. To his displeasure, he was met with a smirk. A quick glance over the other children their age told him that many of them were interested in the conversation taking place in a bobbing, magical _boat. _Shooting a dark glower at the blond across from him, the dark-haired youth finally snapped, "I'm _not _joking, Malfoy. I don't even see how _any _of this is _your _business."

His response was met with raised eyebrows, and he felt his brow tick in annoyance. Draco leaned forward, elbows on knees and hands interlaced between, as he said, "Not using your magic, Hadrian, is a bad thing. My father -"

"Is that where you get all your information?" Hadrian cut in, one eyebrow arching into his hairline as he added, "From your _father? _If he told you the sky was green, and the grass was blue, I wouldn't doubt that you'd believe him."

His jab was met with a scowl. "I am not ignorant, mudblood."

"Hard to tell," Hadrian gestured to the castle in the distance, his voice low as he said, "As for your question about my wand's whereabouts, then I can tell you that I don't have it on me. I left it with the rest of my stuff. _In my suitcase._ Satisfied?"

"No."

Erase his previous thoughts; this boy was _worse _than his sour uncle. Draco Malfoy was far more persistent. Where his uncle used force and violence, the blond used cutting words and quick observation to dig into information he wasn't privy to. Hadrian wasn't sure how to deal with someone who was that quick on his feet. The others were just as bad; Pansy Parkinson, who sat next to Draco, was able to cut a person apart with cold words. The dark-skinned boy was quiet, but his attention was unwavering. It was almost impossible to lie when someone was staring at him like that. Then there was the _other _boy, Theodore Nott, in the boat next to the one he sat in who observed the entire ordeal like it was an experiment he was going to need to know for future reference. The book folded in his lap didn't help sway him from that thought, and Hadrian found himself growing highly uncomfortable. He didn't _like_ it when people _stared _at him.

Looking between the students he was going to be spending the year with, and, perhaps, several which may be in his own House, Hadrian felt a sense of unease creep through him. Those eyes were a bit too sharp for his liking. It was almost as if they shared some of his own characteristics, and that they could spot someone who was deliberately trying to lead them around by the skin of their teeth. It was with _that _thought that Mr. Malfoy's comment came back to him.

_'__"A Slytherin remark, even if poorly constructed."' _Slytherin, Hadrian tossed the word around in his mind.

Slithering. Snake.

Mentally cursing, he nearly leapt with joy at the sight of the ancient castle looming in the distance. Glowing with unnatural light, a force to compete with anything thrown its way, he ignored his boat-mates in favor of partly rising to get a better look at the structure overlooking the black waters of the lake. With the small lotus flowers bobbing in the water, the soft hues of blues and greens and golds and reds glowing in the darkness, he felt as if he had just passed from the world of the logical into a highborn fantasy dreamland. A soft breeze danced around them, lifting lights into the air, and he pushed his hair out of his face to get a better look at the scene playing out before it. It was, strictly speaking, _magical._

He wished his aunt and uncle could be there in his place, if only to have an aneurysm and then to leave him to rest eternally in peace. He was sure that Dudley would not have such a violent reaction, perhaps a mild one, but he could still hope. Off to the side, he heard the soft murmur of a familiar voice say, "It's exactly what my mum said it would be like! Ron, see that? That's _Gryffindor Tower!"_

He couldn't see who, _exactly, _was speaking. It was a voice he knew, though, as it was one that haunted his waking moments as surely as they filled the ones drifting through his dreams. As he sat in his own boat, surrounded by neon colors glowing in the night, he felt his brow furrow as he eyed the mass of students crammed in the boats around him. Somewhere in the mess, he heard the speaker say, "My mum says the Tower is the closest thing she knew from home, and that it will be _my _House as well. Well, hopefully. I don't think I'd do well in Ravenclaw, you know."

"Bloody Potters and Gryffindor," Malfoy growled, and Hadrian glanced at the blond. Grey eyes were glaring at the students around him, and Draco's voice was low as he added, "One would think that they would realize that _Gryffindor _is not exactly an _ideal _House. Filled with brutes and morons, father said. A few with some intelligence, mother would say."

Hadrian glanced at the dark-skinned boy, and his gaze with met with an impassive stare. Across from him, Parkinson said, "He tends to do that every once in a while. Draco has the blood of a Black in him, and it shows. Keeps himself like a Malfoy, without doubt, but the Black seeps through."

_I take it that Black is another family. _Chancing a glance at the students around him, he asked, "Are there any in our year?"

"Draco is the closest," The mousy boy in the boat next to him said, and Hadrian rested his elbows on his knees as the brunette continued, "His mother, Narcissa, comes from the Blacks. She has two sisters, though I am unaware if either of them have had any children."

"One did," Malfoy was scowling, and his voice was sharp as he said, "She married a _muggle. _Being a blood traitor is one thing, but _that? _Joining with a _mudblood _is better than getting with a muggle."

"Mudblood," Hadrian echoed, and the four children watched intently as he said, "I take it that a mudblood is a person with magic born from a non-magical family. An insult, clearly. A muggle, though, that's someone who doesn't have magic. Am I correct so far?"

"You are," It was the Italian who answered, and Hadrian felt a slow smile pulling at his mouth as he said, "I would also wager that none of you have actually been in contact with those who don't have magic. Therefor, like them, you have an intolerance bred from an god-complex. Well, that or from fear. Difficult to tell, for the most part, but they often run into each other."

"Are you suggesting that we are _afraid _of muggles?" Parkinson hissed, eyes narrowed, and Hadrian shrugged. "I didn't _suggest _anything. I merely made an observation, and, due to the fact that you're _defensive _about it, I would say that the former was true."

The boats hit the land, and he rose from his seat. As he stepped onto the land, he called over his shoulder, "To be honest, if you think you're _better _than them because you have magic and they don't, then I pity you. Ignorance is a downfall that's often fatal."

He didn't wait to hear their response. Mingling with the crowd, getting lost in the tide, Hadrian took in the sight of the grounds around him. As he followed after the students through the massive doors, he mused how he would rather avoid being placed in a House with the children he had just met. They thought too highly of themselves. It wasn't long before they were led into a large, open room with wide, impossibly large doors waiting in front of them. The Great Hall, many students were murmuring, rested beyond them. It was there that the Sorting would take place.

Mudblood. He tossed the word around in his head. He had been correct. It was an insult, and the students he had sat with disliked them a great deal. As he stood with the other children, he wondered _why _Malfoy had insisted on dragging him along even after calling him that. Was it a jab? Or was he planning something? If his earlier assumptions were correct, he had picked up on his lack of luggage, but that was something he really didn't want to contemplate. As the doors opened, and as they entered the Great Hall, he mused that Malfoy might think he would end up in the same House and thought to 'put him in his place.' He quietly snorted to himself at that thought; if _that _was the case, they were in for a surprise.

He took note of the severe looking women at the front, and followed with the rest of the children into the Great Hall. It was impossibly large, with arching windows and an enchanted ceiling. Glancing at his surroundings, emerald eyes flashing behind his glasses, he felt the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips as he eyed the floating candles and the mist-like ghosts drifting throughout the room. He could feel the older students watching, assessing those they could see, and Hadrian allowed himself to settle next to a nervous looking boy holding a toad to his chest. Glancing at him, he felt his brow furrow.

"You alright?" The brunette nearly leapt out of his skin, and his head snapped to the side. Hadrian raised a brow in question, and he watched the boy swallow before he answered, "Oh, I think so. Well, I'm as alright as I can be. I mean, _yes, _I am fine. I'm Neville."

"Hadrian," They shook hands, and then the dark-haired youth gestured to the frog. Neville glanced down, flushed, and supplied, "This is Trevor. Did you brig a pet? Oh! I shouldn't be nosy."

"No, I didn't." Neville nodded, and offered a shaky smile as he said, "I have a bit of a hard time keeping Trevor in line. Tends to vanish, he does."

"Toads are like that." Hadrian glanced at the students around them, and then glanced over his shoulder to see four sets of glowering eyes focused on him. He turned his gaze back to the nervous boy as he asked, "Would you know anything about those four? I don't think they like me much, but they're...insistent."

"Slytherin, they are, so I suppose that makes sense." Neville shot a shy glance at the four students, swallowed, and murmured, "Yet I must agree. They are rather focused on you. Did you say something you should not have?"

Hadrian didn't bother hiding his smirk, and kept his voice low as he said, "Let's just say that I don't take well with insults. I'm not entirely familiar with the terminology of this world, but _mudblood _is an insult if I've ever heard one. I just gave them a taste of their own medicine to show my appreciation."

"You're muggleborn?" Neville was staring, and Hadrian cocked his head to the side as he responded, "Like I said, I'm not familiar with terminology."

He could see the boy getting ready to respond, but a silence fell over the Great Hall instead. He stepped forward, catching the shy boy's hand in his own as he pushed them both through the packed lot of children, to get a better look at what had garnered everyone's attention. Behind him, he heard Neville murmur, "I think the Sorting Hat is about to speak."

"Hat?" Surely enough, Hadrian spotted the old looking thing through the rest of the students. They were towards the center of the students about to get Sorted, and, on the platform leading to the tables the staff ate at, was a three-legged stool with the stern woman behind it. The hat was in her hands, and, as she set it on the stool, Hadrian eyed it with disbelief.

_They're trusting a hat to sort a bunch of children into different factions? _First a train, and now _this. _He was beginning to question the magical means of logic and common sense. As he felt the telltale signs of a scowl working its way onto his face, for, surely they knew, a _hat _was only an object. What use would it be to a bunch of children? He shot a quick look at the boy next to him, and then at the mixed group of children surrounding them, as he vehemently thought, _and they think the rest of the world is bad? At least non-magic people don't let their headgear separate the children into clicks that will surely end up disliking each other._

His temple throbbed, and, as he felt his lips press into a tight line, the hat did something peculiar. He saw a shift in the air around it, like sparks of electricity caressing the fabric, and then part of it split to form a mouth. The Great Hall was silent, a collective of held breaths, as the hat yawned before it began to mutter to itself. Hadrian couldn't see what it was saying, or hear it, but it was bad enough to earn a hostile glare from the woman behind it. The hat shifted, and then, to his surprise, it's voice carried across the hall with the clarity of rain upon a forest.

_"I am the Sorting Hat,_

_And I take my job with solemn pride._

_There are those who have came before me,_

_Gone they were by sunrise._

_Every year I see many,_

_And in the end we see few,_

_Hogwarts will give rise to magic,_

_Yet there is one she shall refuse._

_Four Houses I shall divide you,_

_But fall not for this ancient ruse._

_Divided we may stand,_

_This not all we are meant to be,_

_For it is chambers secret we all wish to see._

_The stone in Hogwarts is of magic,_

_and the price of life comes not for free._

_I am the Sorting Hat,_

_And my task is set before me._

_Each and everyone of you,_

_Have a place you are meant to be."_

The students were silent, but Hadrian's skin crawled. He felt cold, clammy, and, as the students slowly began to clap, he heard the boy next to him whisper, "I don't remember Gran saying anything about speeches like that when _she _was in school. Somethings going to happen this year. I just know it. The Sorting Hat never says anything without a reason."

_What are you, a walking Sorting Hat expert? _Hadrian hissed to himself, and, when the woman called out a name, he watched in silence. It was a girl, Abbot he thought the lady called her, and she was a nervous looking thing. He eyed the woman, and pulled at the collection of names he had gathered on his trip here and her place in this gathering. _McGonagall, if I remember her name right. Deputy Headmistress._

Hadrian backed into the crowd, pulling his thoughts from the rolling sensations within himself. He eyed McGonagall, the scroll in her hand containing the names of all the first year students. Did it also have the House they would most likely be in listed on it? The parents of the students, if they went to Hogwarts, were in one of the four Houses. The children would end up in the same, he was sure, and Hadrian wondered where he would end up. Perhaps it would be Ravenclaw, as he knew he was quick on picking up things, and his teachers always praised him on it.

He frowned as he watched the small girl hopped up to the seat, and his brow furrowed when she fidgeted under the Sorting Hat. She was blinking owlishly, her eyes impossibly large as she twisted her hands in the hem of her robe. She was nervous. The room was quiet, and, as he watched, he saw a small smile pull at her lips before she murmured something under her breath. A moment passed in silence before Hadrian blinked, and he felt a wave of confusion tear through him when the hat roared the girl's House: Hufflepuff.

Hadrian idly wondered how it knew which House the student would belong in. As he watched as another student, Bones, ended up under the Hat, he absently wondered if it communicated internally. Maybe it could read their minds, or maybe it saw glimpses of what lied within them. Could it see their traits, their inner strength and goals and passions, and know the things they didn't like or what they feared? He felt a wave of panic hit as his arm throbbed, and he felt his nails bite into the skin of his palm. Could it see what has happened? Would it tell what it saw, or would it keep it to itself? He shuddered at the thought as the Hat was set upon another student's head, a young witch by the name of Granger.

Next to him, Neville was shifting from foot-to-foot before he whispered, "I will be going up there soon enough. I hope I do not find myself in Slytherin."

"Better Slytherin than Gryffindor," Hadrian muttered, and the boy shot him a wide-eyed look as he continued on, "They seem reckless. Such boldness may be good in some places, but those who don't think before they act tend to get into situations that are easily avoided. Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, Neville, would be a House for you."

"You think so?" The boy was looking at him with large as when the Hat finally roared, _"Ravenclaw!"_

Granger came off her seat, her eyes wide and shining, and went to her table. It was only a few more turns before Neville was called forth. Hadrian tightened his grip on the boy's shouldered, offered him a sly grin, and jerked his head towards the stool and Hat. The brunette's voice was low as he asked, "You'll still talk to me regardless of what House we end up in, right?"

"I would like that." Neville swallowed, turned, and made his way through the crowd. Hadrian stepped up next to a redhead, his gaze focused on the shy boy, and watched as he sat upon the stool. The Hat came down, and silence came once again. A long moment passed in silence, and, during this time, neither boy or Hat spoke until the House was roared out, _"Hufflepuff!"_

Neville tossed a tentative smile, and Hadrian inclined his head. The Sorting continued. They were reaching the P's, and he knew he would be called out in a small amount of time. A small portion of students were left, but his gaze was focused on the Hat. Malfoy, whose name was Draconis, went into Slytherin. The quiet boy with the book, Nott, went into the same House alongside Parkinson. He kept his gaze on the woman, and, as she was about to call out the next name, she paused, and her eyes widened in shocked.

He blinked.

_What now?_

He watched as she looked at the name on the list, and then up at the students remaining. She looked back down, and called out in a clear, if not slightly strained, voice. "Alric and Hadrian Potter!"

Her words rang clear, but Hadrian found himself standing with iced blood. Alric. _Alric Potter. _Alric. He felt himself moving forward, eyes narrowing, and those few around him stumbled out of the way with wide, unbelieving eyes. The boy, Alric, was already standing before McGonagall when he stepped out of the throng of children. Their gazes clashed as he slowly made his way up the steps, and, absently, he pulled his braid over his shoulder. Behind him, the student body was deathly silent. Pausing before the _other _Potter, a boy who he knew as well as he knew himself, a boy who haunted his waking moments as surely as he did his dreams, he felt a cold rage building in the depths of his soul. Brothers.

"We have the same last name," Alric whispered, and, as he reached for him, Hadrian grasped the wrist before the tips of those fingers could touch his face. He felt his grasp tighten ever-so-slightly, and Alric winced. A brief jab of pain flared in the back of his mind at the same moment it showed in those grey, grey eyes. As he held this boy's gaze, emerald fire clashing against an hazel stars, he heard himself say, "We share the same name, but nothing more."

The anger was his own, but the confusion was not. _Twins. We are twins, but we are not brothers._

"That is a lie, and we _both _know that." Alric's voice had dropped, and Hadrian's eyes narrowed as he said, "But I do not. We're strangers, and we'll never be anything else but that. Isn't _that _the reason you never knew of me?"

Shock whirled in the back of his mind - _emerald eyes, dark eyes, long hair, and a tight grip. Who was this boy? Was he right? Did mum, did father, know - _before he flung the arm away from him. The link there sizzled, and he stepped away with clenched teeth as the boy stared at him in confusion. He forced his voice to be cold, flat and even, as he said, "I would prefer it if you wouldn't touch me, Potter. Professor McGonagall, if you would?"

The woman was staring at them, _at _him. The student body was staring. The professors and the ghosts were staring. He felt, as surely as he saw, Alric's eyes widen as he ran a hand through his hair. The scar stood out against his skin, long and obvious, and he raised a black brow in question. He knew Alric himself had a scar, like that of a small lightning bolt over his left eye. Next to them, the woman cleared her throat and instructed Alric to sit upon the stool._  
_

The boy did not, at first, but after a sharp look from both the professor and Hadrian, Alric climbed on. Unlike the other students, his brother did not allow the Hat to cover his eyes, and Hadrian found himself holding that gaze as the Sorting began once again. Behind him, it was like the entire Great Hall was holding its breath. _The Boy-Who-Lived, she had called him, _Hadrian recalled from one glimpse into this boy's life. He had defeated someone, and lived. A hero. Famous.

_How sickening. _Alric's lips tightened into a white line, and Hadrian wondered if the grey-eyed boy was aware of his feelings. Could he sense the dislike churning within him, or was it one-sided? When Alric made no other gesture, Hadrian filed the thought away for a later investigation. He saw the Hat shift, and then the split opened as it called out, _"Gryffindor!"_

Hadrian eyed the Hat as it was lifted off Alric's head. The boy hopped off the stool, and moved to stand next to him. When Hadrian raised his brow in question, he flushed and murmured, "It is custom. Twins stay together until they are Sorted."

There was a different set of twins, he mused, who had came up together. He stepped past Alric, and lightly hefted himself onto the stool. Behind him, McGonagall sat the Hat upon his head without comment, and the hall was light no more. No, it was dark all around him. He felt himself relaxing when the quiet, harsh stares of the students were blocked from his vision and mind. In this darkness, there was no one to question him, to stare at him.

_'Well, well, what do I have here?' _Hadrian nearly jerked in shock at the sound of the voice echoing in the back of his mind, and it laughed before continuing, _'It is not every day I come across a pair of twins like your brother and you. I do wonder how this has happened.'_

He felt a light probing in the back of his mind, and deep within him, something clamped shut. He heard the Hat hum, and then flickers of memories were flashing past his eyes. Most were light, indifferent, in nature. A sharp image of scalding water being poured over his hand jumped to mind before it was forced into the back of his thoughts, into the darkness and the locked confines, and he sent an irritated nudge towards the Hat. It hummed again, and then its voice was a solemn echo as it said, _'It is not wise to lock your mind up in such a way, Hadrian. There is courage in you, however, to be able to face such torment without a single cry of pain. A steady determination, and a well of knowledge to back it up. You could be great, you know. Powerful. I had once came across someone just like you, a boy the world had cast aside.'_

Other images raced across his mind - the incident with the teacher and her jewelry coming alive, a root bursting out of the ground to trip Dudley and his friends when they chased him into the woods, and Vernon's favorite meal turning sour within moments when he had called him worthless being some of many to come to him. Another image came up, him within his small quarters under the stairs, with a false black-widow dancing across his fingers. A sense of contentment rose with that picture, and then the picture of himself, shy of nine, speaking to a small black snake in the backyard rose unbidden.

_'Yes, one other like you I have Sorted.' _The Hat mused in the back of his head. _'You could do well in two Houses, Hadrian. Ravenclaw, where knowledge leads one far, or within Slytherin, where the depths of truth and allies run as deep as the lake their home dwells under.'_

Hadrian was getting uneasy. How long had he sat here, with everyone watching him? A soft laugh danced through his mind as the Hat said, _'We have sat here for many, long minutes. Some students are harder to Sort than others, but I am the Sorting Hat, and I take my job with solemn pride. Now, however, the question must rise. Where am I to put you?_

_'Gryffindor is of pride and courage, and both you have. However, you are not reckless, and this House you will not find your path. Ravenclaw, yes, is one of two. It is suiting, I think, for a boy like you. Hufflepuff is all well and alright, but you lack the soft edges and trusting front and whatnot. Last is Slytherin, a place of ambition and hidden plots, and this House is one of two you shall escape from not.'_

More images flickered through his mind, and, once again, he felt the darkness in the back of his mind pressed upon. He batted the presence away from it with a frown, and then the Hat mused, _'__You are intelligent, that is clear. Most certainly a trait shared with Ravenclaw. Determined, however, is the word I seek. That __is what sets you apart from the rest. Calm and collected you are. Resourceful and quick, I cannot lie. You are determined to win, an end gleamed with care, but in your mind, I see what others would not dare._

Hadrian's eyes widened, disbelief surging through him. Surely it couldn't be meaning what he_ thought _it was hinting at. _You cannot, _cannot, _do what you thinking without explaining first! What do you -_

_"Slytherin!" _The Sorting Hat roared in triumph, a note of pure joy. The word echoed, a tone that sliced through the confused talking, and silenced the hall of the whispers which had cut through it. Hadrian wiped his expression clean, body numb, as he sat upon the stool. Surely the Hat was mistaken. Pain throbbed in his palm, his nails biting cleaning through his skin. In the depths of his mind, Harry knew he would bleed if he let up on the pressure. How much had the Hat seen?

Slowly, he reached up, and grasped the Sorting Hat in his hand. His nails bit into the fabric, and he removed it before it could protest. His breath raged in his chest, and the edges of his vision burned red. His eyes stung. He swallowed as he stood, knowing that asking it questions now would be useless. He handed the hat to an astonished McGonagall, bowed his head in thanks, and turned on his heel. He pushed past Alric Potter, and took the steps with measured strides.

He didn't look up as he made his way to the Slytherin's table, the green and silver across the room from the table of red and gold. Hadrian knew there was nothing that could be done, the choice already made by a life already seen. He knew that, somehow, he was going to figure out how to work the change of events, the knowledge of his _twin,_ so that they would work in _his _favor. Even as he sat at the table, at the very end where the first years sat, the hall was silent. He could feel the students staring at him. _Gaping at him. _Malfoy, who was sitting by him, bumped his shoulder and raised his eyebrows when Harry slide his gaze to the blond boy.

Another name was called out, and the attention moved away. Hadrian forced himself to relax. This was just the first bump in the road. Nothing more, nothing less. Breathing deeply, he looked up and met his brother's eyes from across the room. Alric was staring at him. He could see questions in those eyes as surely as he could feel them battering at the shield he put between them. Looking away, glancing at the Sorting as it took place, he felt his muscles loosening. Yet there was a sense of ill-will, a feeling that crawled across Hadrian's skin.

Turning, he met onyx eyes from the Head Table at the front of the room. In answer, pain flared across his face and Hadrian hissed in surprise. Head hurting, once again, he reached up to rub at the offending scar only to come away slick with specks of red staining his fingers. Hadrian curled his hand into a fist, the skin stained from four crescents budding with red, and willed himself to stay still. He was watching the sorting like the rest of the school, and after a few moments, he set his hand on his lap. He whipped the blood off on his pants, and decided he wouldn't think any more on the situation he was thrust into.

Leaning into the table, he watched as the last student was sorted and then the Headmaster proceeded to give a speech and a welcome to new students and staff at once. When all was said and done, food appeared on the table, and Hadrian blinked in surprise. Never had he seen so much food in one place. He bypassed the meats when he noticed the rest of his table filing their plates, and he piled his plate with fruits and bread, took a glass of juice and dug in. He couldn't make something out of nothing, not until he had the proof he needed. With a grim smile, Hadrian knew the answers he sought would be in his hands one way or another before the year's end.

He refused to have it any other way.


	4. A Serpent's Guile

**Author's Note**: This is the fourth installment of _'Fade To Black: The Serpent and the Stone._' However, there are a _few _things I would like to say before I start off this chapter. The first - I would like to thank 'Guest' who pointed out my misspellings between 'lest (which was the word I was aiming for)' and 'least.' I had not realized I mixed the two of them up until I looked for them in the first three chapters. Needless to say, that has been fixed. So thank you for pointing that out.

The second thing - one of my reviewers stated that this is a 'wrong Boy-Who-Lived' story, and that I should have _warned _everyone. I do have to say that the description of the story does have a rather _vague _warning of this. _'There was none who understood that better than young Hadrian Potter, a boy fated to protect another from birth.'_ Hadrian Potter, 'fated' to protect someone _else _from his birth. However, the story itself is just beginning, and assuming anything off of _three _chapters does not sum up the entirety of what will occur after. As for the comment about me not being able to have a 'creative license' because this is AU. In all honestly, I actually do. AU stands for _Alternate Universe _for a reason. I can change whatever I want, for the purpose of the story, but I don't change anything just for the kicks of it. As any writer knows, the content of a story has to be for a _valid _reason. One that makes _sense.__  
_

I think this is it, for now, and I'll move onto the chapter. Also, for those who are enjoying this story, do look into 'When Darkness Sings.' It's my other Harry Potter story (Harry/Tom), and it's moving at a steady, pleasant pace. So: Read, Enjoy, and _Review._

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**Rating**: **T**

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Hogwarts, an academy of magic and prestige, was a drastic change from idle Privet Drive.

Hadrian had suspected many things. Few of them had yet to come about, but he knew patience was a virtue to be treasured. It ranked second to silence, a trait he knew was key to surviving in hostile territory where even the most innocent of children could possibly be an instigator to future troubles. Malfoy, he mused, was one such child. Questions circled. The Sorting was over. The name Rilind had not once came about, but his status as Alric's twin was spreading like wildfire.

Like he had first suspected, Minerva McGonagall was, in fact, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. She was a stern woman, he noted to himself. She did not stare at him like the others did throughout the Great Feast, and, even now, many still stared. Several at his table had tried to talk to him, but other matters circled in his mind that outranked the need to amuse them. As he had sat in the Great Hall, small doses of food on his plate, he had wavered between a headache that threatened to snap his skull in half and a maze twisting plots.

Someone knew who he was, if his Acceptance Letter was anything to go by, and he needed to know _who._

The feast was dismissed with warnings of steering clear of the Forbidden Forest and the corridor on the third floor. As he followed the rest of his House into the dungeons, he wondered why anyone would be daft enough to even risk themselves for foolish adventures where death could lurk in unlikely shadows. It was a question that circled in his mind as he walked, his pace setting him towards the front of the first years and the second years several steps ahead of him. He ignored both. Instead, his thoughts turned to the many possibilities he could face in the dorm, and how, should they be _sharing _one, he would explain his lack of luggage.

As of yet, he had nothing which would convince a _child _away from the startling and obvious truth. Whispered conversation whirled around them as they continued into the cooled depths of the castle, and, as the stones rang with their footsteps, he knew his yearmates were staring him down. How could he not when he could feel their gazes cutting into the back of his head?

The trip to their homeroom passed without incident, and, as they paused in front of a stone wall away from the rest of the classrooms in a section he highly doubted any other student would venture willingly, the prefect said, "This is the entrance to Slytherin. Unlike the other Houses, we do not need a password to gain entrance. Our Founder ensured that only a Slytherin, or someone with our explicit permission, could gain access to our House."

The older Slytherins had already vanished, but, as they stood there, they watched as the Slytherin prefect touched the wall. It rippled, and he continued on without pause, "For those who spent their life in the muggle world, getting into Slytherin is like passing through the barrier separating the Hogwarts Express from the various train stations throughout Europe. It is advised that you should _not _run at the wall. As you pass through, you shall see why."

Hadrian passed through first, being at the front, and he understood clearly as he stepped into Slytherin. There was three steps several feet in, similar to a very small, but wide, walkway, that led up to the Common Room. Easing his way into the room, well aware of the stares he was receiving from the students, he let his gaze move about the room. Behind him, he heard the prefect say, "First years, step up to the front of the room. Professor Snape will be here soon."

Hadrian was standing close to the hearth, enjoying the heat, and he glanced to his left when the soft silk of a robe brushed against his hand. Malfoy raised a brow at him, and Hadrian turned his gaze away without comment. Several moments passed before, from the shadows themselves, their Head of House came.

"Welcome to Slytherin," Severus Snape, Hadrian recalled from murmured conversation at the feast, drawled as his dark eyes ghosted over the gathered boys and girls standing, and sitting, before him. His gaze landed on him, their eyes locking, and the pain from earlier did not return as their Head of House narrowed his eyes before shifting to the student behind him. Those dark eyes narrowed farther as he snapped, "Mr. Crabbe, what, _exactly_,is on the front of your robes?"

Crabbe blinked slowly, as if he didn't comprehend the question, as he looked down. The large boy was silent for a moment before he answered, "I dunno, sir."

The dark-haired professor narrowed his eyes, voice low as he snapped, "That would be food, Mr. Crabbe. You are not some mammal on a farm, and I expect you to _not _eatlike one from now on. You are to present yourself as a proper magic-blooded child. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir." Hadrian looked at the boy, and then at his professor, before closing his eye for a moment. Professor Snape continued onward, "As I was saying, I welcome you to Slytherin. For those who are returning, welcome back for another year. For those who are only arriving, I am Severus Snape, your Head of House, and, as I am sure you already know, your instructor in Potions."

He paused for a moment, looking over each student standing in front of him, before he pressed onward, "Slytherin is a proud House, one of ambition and a sharp understanding of what it means to succeed in life. We know how to survive. We are planners, quick on our feet but even faster to know which route we should take in order to live another day. We know the consequences of our actions, and what it will cost us should we decide a risk dangerous enough to chance."

Hadrian felt his limbs relaxing, the sharp discomfort fading as his Head of House folded his arms across his chest and effectively hiding them from sight. He eyed the black sleeves, and then the flowing robes, before turning his attention back to the man as he continued onward, "However, we are as intelligent as any within Ravenclaw, but we are not ones to flaunt such a trait. Our bravery, our courage, is that of Gryffindor. There are many who will say otherwise, but we will defend what is precious to us, and we will protect our own without fault. We are loyal when such trust is earned, and not a moment before."

_This is not a House of idiots, _Hadrian mused as he stood with the others. He remembered many students before the Sorting murmuring such things, and others going as far to say Slytherins were cowards. It was not so; this he understood as his Head of House spoke. _Self-Preservation is the center facet of Slytherin. One can't go far in life if they're dead. Run to live another day._

"Prefects, up front." Two students stepped up, one he had already seen, and a young woman after. Professor Snape waited for their complete attention before he began speaking once again, "These two are Marcus Flint and Regan Calvert. You will go to them if I am unavailable. Any concerns, worries, or problems are to be brought to them. They will be sure that any difficulties you may encounter will be brought to my attention. You are to treat them as you would me, and I shall know if you do otherwise."

Hadrian eyed Flint, the male prefect, before turning his gaze to Calvert. They both were tall, possibly fifth or sixth years, and both had a stern look about them that he was familiar with. These two, he knew, would not tolerate any horseplay. A moment passed as the older students filed out of the room, though he did not see any signal the man could have used, as Snape said, "Lights are out at ten for years between first and fourth. Wednesday is the only exception as it is the day you will have Astronomy. First years, follow me."

Hadrian trailed after the man, his gaze on the snapping robes. A quick gaze at the others showed some confusion, but others looked rather resigned. Malfoy, walking next to him, murmured, "We are going to Madam Pomfrey for a checkup. It is routine in Slytherin, and more so if there are any muggle-raised children within the House."

_Checkup. _The word echoed in the back of his mind, and he flexed his hand. Glancing out of the side of his eye at the boy next to him, he asked, "What does it entail?"

"Worried?"

Several of the students around him turned their gaze to him, and Hadrian blinked slowly, as if considering the question, before he replied, "Not in the least."

_I'd rather not get stuck with needles. _He mused to himself. A part of him, buried deep in his mind, betrayed him a moment later as it whispered, _They would know. They would see. Vernon and Petunia, they would be most displeased if they were discovered._

He wouldn't let them in. No one had ever found out the truth.

That was't going to change now.

**~oOoOo~**

Something had changed. Something _vital._

Severus Snape, Potions Master and Professor, felt it in the air. The school was humming, the ambient magic rising in greeting as the students began their lives anew, for another ten months, within her ancient halls. He had felt the wards come to life the moment the children arrived in the small village down the path. He had felt it strengthen the moment they came upon the grounds. He knew it was because of Potter, the one named Alric, and it was due to the fact that there were many who wished the child dead. Snape had known he would be teaching the brat the moment he was born.

However, _no one _had told him of a _second _Potter. As he stalked through the hall, a small herd of children walking around him, he knew that this small snake was, without doubt, the black sheep of the Potter family. A Light, halfblooded child, one of _James' _spawn, was in _his _noble House. Yet the scene which had played out in front of the entire student population when Hadrian Potter had slapped his twin's hand away was telling. Those dark eyes, the scar cutting across his face, the magic compressed in that small body - Snape knew potential when he saw it.

Yet he could not figure out _why _James, why _Lily, _would let their own flesh and blood go. Why had they passed their son off to another?

Was it because they did not wish to endanger their savior-born child? He glanced at the dark-haired boy, those Killing Curse green eyes unnaturally bright in the dark halls, and made a mental note to investigate the child's background. As he strode up a flight of stairs, he wondered if, perhaps, the boy was less inclined in the arts of magic than his twin. Lily had once told him how her sister had developed a deep hatred for magic, for the aspect which made one greater than the other. Another look at the boy, one who walked so regally next to the Malfoy Heir, negated that thought. If he was at Hogwarts, his magic was powerful enough for him to be ranked among those walking the halls. So why, _why, _had Lily cast her own flesh and blood away when she had been so adamant about keeping the bonds of family strong in their youth? What had changed?

No answer came. A frown pulled at his mouth as he walked them to the upper levels, and down a hallway. He made sure each of them entered the infirmary, and his eyes narrowed when Potter slowed to a stop in front of the doors. The small boy's face was carefully blank, and then those emerald eyes, bright as the Killing Curse, cut into him without pause. They both stood in silence for a moment before the child finally asked, "Magical doctors are different than non-magical doctors, correct?"

The question was there, Snape knew, because he had once asked the same. "The difference between a doctor of magic, and one without it, is as clear as day is from night. The only thing which will be done is a scan, and that will detail your condition and any potions you may need."

He gestured to the door, his voice low and even as he told the boy, "Now enter the infirmary, Mr. Potter. We do not have all night."

Hadrian Potter glanced between him and the door before pushing his way in. A flicker of magic brushed against his senses, against the mental barrier he had erected around himself years ago to filter out the magic of countless children, and felt a cold wave travel down his spine. There was, without doubt, power which ran through the child. A mix between the old blood of the Potter line, and the pure genius which was Lily alone. Following behind the boy, he ran his gaze over the students, and then sat in the chair next to the door. None would be leaving, and he resigned himself to the time it would take for a dozen children to be examined.

Slytherins were one, and he would look after his own.

**~oOoOo~**

Very little went by without his notice.

He was, after all, a Malfoy. He had a reputation to uphold. He had first seen his Housemate in Diagon Alley, looking lost but determined, with gleaming eyes of the sharpest green he had ever seen. A mudblood, he had thought, but a powerful one. The moment he was close enough, he had felt the first telltale signs of a headache brewing. From the subtle narrowing of eyes, he had also known that _something _about Hadrian had captured his parent's interest. It was not the magic they had felt, their shields being too strong for someone as young as they were to breach, but his defensiveness. He was quick to try and waylay the probing questions. They were Malfoys, however, and they were _never _wrong.

Yet it was that very contradiction that pulled him in.

Something odd was wrapped within this mudblood, and he was determined to find out...only he _wasn't _a mudblood, but a halfblood. He blinked at the reminder, and carefully cataloged it into his mind. He had felt the press of a headache since the train, and then at the feast, but Hadrian _Potter _was not interested in talking to _any _of them. Even now, as they sat on the clean and crisp sheets covering the infirmary beds, the dark-haired boy refused to speak to any of the children. He sat by himself, reclined against a headboard with a medical journal in hand, and spent his time waiting with a book in hand.

Draco was intrigued. A quick glance at the others told him that they, too, wanted to know more. The episode in the Great Hall had captured their interest, and now the puzzle was set. Why was his newest Housemate so secretive? Why had he closed the door that had opened when he was introduced to his twin? Where had _this _Potter been for the last Salazar-knows-how-long?

As he slipped off his own bed, moving to a curtained off room where Madam Pomfrey awaited him, he let his mind churn around the oddest addition to Slytherin. He would have to write his Father, he knew. His father would have answers. His father would be the one who could unravel the puzzle sat before him. His father would be the one to offer insight, and a way to go about fixing mistakes made unknowingly. As he stopped before the nurse, he silently began composing a letter in his head.

_Dear Father,_

_I have done as you asked. I am in Slytherin, our most Noble House, but something unusual has came to be. The boy we had met in Diagon Alley, his name is Hadrian. Yet that is not the information that I wish you to know. He is not just any __boy, Father. He is Hadrian Potter__**. **He is a halfblood, so I have erred. I am not sure how to med the problem, which is the highlight of this message. I have insulted him. Hadrian is in Slytherin, Father. I have insulted one of my Salazar-bound kin. I cannot even begin to understand how this has happened, but I do want to know more. I want to know how a Potter, a child born from Light, came into our Dark house. Classes will start soon, and, as expected, the exam of my health was perfectly fine. I am a Malfoy, after all. Nothing less is allowed._

_I suppose I should end this now. I shall have more to write once classes start. Give Mother my love._

_Your Loving Son,_

_Draconis S. Malfoy_

**~oOoOo~**

Hadrian sat still as Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over his head with a light, but concerned, smile on her face. As he sat there, his mind intently focused on _what _was going to happen, of the excuses needed to answer the questions sure to come, he missed the slight widening of her eyes as she read over the results printing themselves on the floating scroll. He stiffened when she took his arm in hand, and he forced himself to relax as she carefully flexed his hand and fingers. Stabs of pain shot up his arm, but he ignored it in favor of watching her.

The angry red flesh, welted and boiled, drew her voice out of her body as she asked, "I have noticed you have several cracked bones in you hand, Mr. Potter. Several of the knuckles are broken, at that, and I am most curious as to why your skin is as such."

He felt a flush rise to his cheeks, and he quickly cast his eyes away from her as he swallowed. He felt her sit next to him, and, turning his words carefully in his mind, he finally put them to tongue as he murmured, "I was raised in a non-magical home, Madam Pomfrey, with my aunt and uncle and their son. I was bullied at school..."

He broke off, voice cracking, and felt her hand wrap around his shoulder, her grip tightening in comfort as she asked, "The other children did this?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I think they realized I was different. I was several years ahead of children my own age. Children don't like feeling stupid..."

"That's no reason to bully someone that much younger than them," He glanced up, looking out from under his lashes, and watched as she waved her wand over his hand. The pain dimmed, and then vanished when he flexed his hand experimentally, as he continued, "One kid, we got into an argument in one of our activity classes. I like cooking, and, he, well, he dumped the water on me. Said only _girls _are supposed to be good at cooking. I didn't want to tell my relatives because I didn't want them to cause a scene at school."

She rubbed some ointment on his burning skin, and then carefully wrapped it. "Not a thing is wrong with liking to cook, Mr. Potter. It is quite lovely to have a pastime such as that. I can assure you, however, that no one will judge you for it here."

She rested her hand upon his, voice light as she said, "Come by before breakfast, and I'll change the wraps."

He nodded, and, rising, thanked her. He offered a tentative smile, and she beamed in response.

As he dunked into the infirmary's main holding, he felt a wave of victory rush through his veins. He sat back on his bed, carefully committing the story to memory, and picked up the book he had been reading. He felt several gazes lingering on his arm, but he ignored them in favor of continuing where he had left off. The theory of channeling magic to heal was complex, but, he knew, it would be well worth it to learn.

_That, and glamours. _The students moved into Madam Pomfrey's office one after another, and it was not long until they were all being bustled back into the dungeons where their beds awaited them. A soft command from Professor Snape had him lingering behind the other students, tense. He turned to face the man who was in charge of him for the next seven years of his life, ten mouths out of twelve.

Meeting those dark eyes, he waited for his Head of House to speak. He did not have to wait long.

"Madam Pomfrey showed me the results of your scan," He began, and Hadrian felt a wave of unease shift through him. It was tossed aside when the man said, "You will find that there will be similar children in the other Houses. Slytherin in not well liked, but should any of them take to bullying you, you will inform me of the events. This is your home, Mr. Potter, and I want to see you reach your full potential. Are we clear?"

"Very."

He held his professor's eyes for several moments before he turned on his heel, and slipped into the hall leading to the first year dormitories. The hall was a maze, hard to understand, but he was content as he slipped into the boys' dorm. It took him only a moment to realize things were about to get a bit more difficult. The upcoming problem would be impossible to hide, not with his Professor at his back, and he knew it would be impossible to talk his way into clean, safe territory.

His Head of House paused behind him as he stopped by the bed at the back of the room, and Snape continued on as if their conversation had not ended, "However, I do know that your lack of supplies is an issue. For the time being, you and the others will share as several of them have brought extra uniforms, and I will have your books ready for you by morning. On the issue of your wand, however..."

Hadrian moved to his bed, and he eyed the name on the plate. _Hadrian J. Potter. _His father's name was his middle, he assumed. James. He thought back to his countless dreams, of the snippets he had been granted into his _twin's _life, and knew Alric's middle name to be Charles. Their grandfather, possibly.

Sitting on his bed, he turned his gaze to his Professor as the man continued, "I will take you to Diagon Alley this weekend to get one for you. Until then, you will have to make due with my old one."

The dark-cloaked man handed him a box, and those dark eyes narrowed as he said, "It would be in your best interest to _not _loose that."

Hadrian carefully wrapped his hands around the box, keeping it in his lap, and dutifully nodded. He wasn't sure how his professor knew he would need one, but it would seem he had been informed earlier if he was carrying one on him for his use. With one last look over the rest of the room, Professor Snape said, "I expect to see you all in the Great Hall on time. I will see you all tomorrow at breakfast."

The man was gone in a flourish. Hadrian cursed his classmates and Professor in his head. It took him only a moment to notice the wary look the boys were giving him, and then he sighed. Malfoy was unpacking his things, and then, much to his surprise, the blond crossed over to him with a set of black robes folded over his arm. The silence that passed was wary, but when Hadrian met his gaze as the blond said, "You might be a prat, but you are a _Slytherin _prat. Until Professor Snape can arrange a trip to Diagon Alley, you can borrow what you need from my clothing. We look to be about the same size."

Hadrian knew he was smaller than the blond, but the others in the room were either taller than them, or built stronger. Hadrian took the cloak from the boy, and slowly nodded. The cold silk was like water against his skin as he murmured, "My thanks, Malfoy."

_How mortifying. _He saw the others staring, and closed his eyes. _How very mortifying._

"Our beds are next to each others, so I'll keep my books out." Malfoy continued on, and Hadrian opened his eyes to watch him set the books on the desk between their beds. The blond looked over at him for a moment before saying, "Professor Snape may be getting some books for you, but if you want to read on the course subjects this year, then, by all means, help yourself."

Hadrian felt his brow furrow as he finally said, "What, exactly, are you really trying to say, Malfoy?"

The blond flushed. He looked highly uncomfortable, but his answer came out even and controlled when he said, "From our first meeting, I merely think you might like to have a general idea on what to expect in class. We are kin here, a family away from our family."

Around the room, the rest of the boys looked highly uncomfortable, but many were incline their head in agreement. Crossing his legs, and pulling a book from the pile, he carefully skimmed through the pages as he waited for the others to bring order to their thoughts. A few minutes passed in silence before the boy across from him, the dark-skinned Zabini, an heir of a family no doubt, said, "I was unaware that you and Potter were of any relation."

"For all I'm concerned, we're not." The answer was stilted, and Hadrian paused to glance at his Housemate. He noted how Malfoy shared a look with the other boys before rising those gray eyes onto him, the depths guarded. The blond held his gaze as he said, "You were unaware."

"Not as much as I first thought I'd be." Draco blinked, and Hadrian felt the start of a headache begin as he elaborated, "Regardless of what little relation we share, I won't be seeing much of him. We're in different Houses, and, from what I understand, Slytherin and Gryffindor don't get along. He has no reason to talk to me, nor I him."

The silence which came after this was a curious one, and then Malfoy said, "That makes sense. From what I gathered, the two of you were not exactly on _friendly _terms, but if you were not even aware of him...well, that aside, you are correct. Chances are, you will see a Gryffindor in Class Doubles, during Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner, and, possibly, in the hallways or library."

"He is your brother, though." One of the other boys said, and Hadrian snorted. "We may be brothers, but we are not friends."

"Are you dark?" The question was abrupt, completely random, and Hadrian blinked in surprise. He turned toward the one who asked it, a large boy with beady eyes, and felt his irritation rise as he asked, "Are you? Unless you have a habit of asking stupid questions, let alone ones of that nature, then do not bother opening your mouth. You may catch flies."

He slipped into some nightclothes given to him by Malfoy, and bid the others goodnight.

His tolerance for ignorance ran only so high.


End file.
